


Obey Me

by CalsLaundry



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M, Kidnapping, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:28:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25752124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CalsLaundry/pseuds/CalsLaundry
Summary: "When on his knee, you're perched with your back straight and his hand on your waist. Though you find you often touch him when you're standing with him. He never has to ask, you just touch him."
Relationships: Hanzo Shimada/Reader
Comments: 10
Kudos: 59





	Obey Me

**Author's Note:**

> Super old Hanzo work that I *forgot I didn't upload!*
> 
> It's an old favourite, enjoy!

"Careful now" 

Andrea nods to the door just after it opens, and you see some regulars. Their drink orders are often strong, they'll stay for an hour or so, and they'll push on. They're not much trouble beyond drawing the nosy eyes of strangers who quickly catch on. You're just happy they're polite and they tip well. You take their drinks to their table with a smile and a nod, and they offer nods and gratitude. 

Andrea's worry was not necessary. 

But you had to wonder why men in such fine suits would bother with this dingy little place. 

This bar was old when your parents were young, and while it had its charms in dusty couches and sun bleached pictures, men in suits that cost more than the building itself didn't seem the type to pass through. 

As time passes, you busy yourself, until the door opens again, and through it, enters a customer you've only seen once or twice. You hadn't truly met him, however.

He's flanked by two men in suits much like the two that entered before. But he stands out like a beacon. 

He strides confidently in a shirt and waistcoat. It's pinstriped with royal blue accents that match his tie and the symbol on his shoulder. The sleeves are rolled up to hid mid forearms, and an intricate tattoo peeks underneath it. His arms fill that shirt as if it's going to burst, and every time you've seen him, you've struggled not to stare. He's handsome to boot, with strong bone structure, neatly trimmed goatee, and a slicked back hairstyle. Even now, you find your eyes roaming to the pinch of his waist. You look away when one of his associates approaches to place a drinks order. As with the last order, you take it to the table, and the men keep talking as you approach. You bend to place the drinks, and they offer their thanks, but as you look up, that man, the one who stands out, takes the tumbler of whiskey with a leather gloved hand. In the same motion, his eyes meet yours, and in that tiny instant, time stops. 

Your breath pauses, until he looks away and time speeds up again, catches you up, and you return to the counter.

"You good?" Andrea's voice surprises you.

"Yeah. Just...yeah" 

*

It's a week or so before you see him again, though his suited friends still hover. The night you see him again, he's dressed the same as before but there's far more confidence in how he walks, and his smirk is far more cocky. You deliver the drinks with a new nervousness swirling in your stomach, it's not like you can't see his eyes on you. He watches your walk to the table, as you bend to put the drinks down. 

"Do you mind bringing my drink to me?"

He's right across from where you place the tray, but how could you deny?

You pick up his -the whiskey- and round the table. His eyes are still on you, but he turns back to his associates and the conversation resumes. You're gentle with the glass, but as you bend, a light touch sneaks up the back of your thigh. 

You freeze and shoot him a look, but he's still speaking as his hand goes higher. The leather of his gloves pulls goosebumps from your flesh, and again, you've stilled. 

You stand tall again, and the table thanks you, but his hand is just under the curve of your ass, and he gives you a final shameless squeeze before his touch leaves you. You know you're blushing, but you can't say you don't love the tingle that runs through the spot he touched.

*

A few days pass and his associates return, but not him. Routine. A smile and a nod, gratitude.

That night, you wave your goodbye to Andrea, and cross the parking lot. 

But something is different. 

There's a twinge of wrongness in your belly.

And it's correct.

Pain and then another strike an-

You blink and you're somewhere...else.

It's a room, luxurious, beautiful. Unlike anything you've ever seen.

The pain throbs through your head, you try to sit up and you rub at your eyes.

_ What happened? _

"I did tell them not to hurt you." 

You jump at the voice and you see the man, the one with the waistcoat, beside the bed in a chair, legs crossed and back straight.

"Don't worry, the ones who hurt you have been dealt with." 

"Dealt with?" Your voice is a bare whisper.

He merely nods, and leans forward, legs setting in a wide stance.

"Do you like this room?" 

You nod again, taking another glance around.

"Good, it's yours" 

"What?" 

He raises a brow at you and smiles.

"It's yours. Your room, my dear" 

He stands, and briefly touches your cheek.

"But I don't live here" 

He bends low, face close enough to yours that you can smell his cologne and feel his breath on your lips. You blush at the closeness, but the words he utters lodges ice in your gut and your breath catches with the urge to cry.

"You do now." 

*

It takes some getting used to. 

You never really want to. 

But he's not cruel.

He offers his name to you the next time he visits, but you barely hear it through your pleas to leave.

It's a useless request. 

But what can you do?

It's days before you can even consider leaving the room you've been given. 

Thankfully, Hanzo thinks the same. 

He visits often, though it's someone else that brings your food.

He'll sit, sometimes in silence as if he's waiting for you to talk, but other times, he'll talk. You don't always understand. All you truly know is that he's no angel. 

But he treats you like one.

You see it in the way he watches you, and feel it in his feather light touches. He treats you like a glorious spider web, and you don't know if you feel sick or you love it.

*

Hanzo likes to dress you. If you were a spider web before, you become a silk doll. Outfits are brought to you, and you are told to visit his office every morning. Bile rises in your throat each time. To show off for someone like him, but to enjoy it too....You're ashamed. But you live for it. 

Each time, you get a hum of approval.

But today, he calls you closer, until you're beside him. Just like the first night he touched you.

And just like that night, he runs his hand along your thigh the same way, though now it's with less hesitation, you'd argue none. 

"You look wonderful" 

You nibble on your lip but he stands with such speed that you flinch. He holds your waist, and his other hand cups your cheek. His thumb brushes your lip where your teeth dug into it. 

For a moment, you're smitten.

Then you remember why you're here. He's taken you.

No matter how nice he is, he's kidnapped you.

You step back quickly, and his face changes, though subtly. 

"Thank you." 

With that, you leave, and try to forget how your heart pounded for him.

*

His touches are endlessly risky, but he doesn't act like he wants to kiss you again.

Instead, he waits, touches your legs, your waist, your shoulders, even your neck once or twice.

As compensation, you don't complain or resist when he brings you to meetings.

He can never decide where to put you, sometimes on his knee, other times standing beside him.

When on his knee, you're perched with your back straight and his hand on your waist. Though you find you often touch him when you're standing with him. He never has to ask, you just touch him. Hold his shoulders, sometimes you even dare to touch his hair. 

Today, you're on his knee , and his thumb rubs small circles against your back. 

Hanzo's voice rumbles as he shuffles you on his lap so you sit on his knee only. But as he leans, his knee shifts, and presses between your thighs in a way that makes you shudder.

You don't doubt he noticed.

You're sure he noticed, in fact. 

The hand on your waist pushes you, oh so subtle, so his knee rocks against you.

Your hand covers his and you squeeze tight. But he doesn't falter. Even with subtle movements that are surely bringing a blush to your cheeks, he speaks like he commands the room. 

You hate how much you love it.

You hate how much you want him.

It's a bare moment before you realise he has ordered them to leave, and you're alone with him.

You rise when his hands urge you to stand, and he strips you. 

You breathe. 

It was inevitable.

But you still want to fight, with some tiny, crushed part of you, you want to fight.

"You didn't lock the door." 

He is still slipping the clothes from your body.

"Someone could see!"

"Let them." 

Two words. It was enough to quieten you, and enough to make you hate how much you love it again.

Now naked, you want to stand tall. You want to show off for just him, but you want to run. He turns you and encourages you to sit on the desk.

"Can I kiss you?"

"Are you going to ask me for any other permission?"

"No." 

His hand cups your cheek as it did the first time.

"Your response will be for everything I want from you."

You examine his face; it's stone.

"Not just for now. For every time."

And in that look, you know even if you say "no", he'll just wait and ask you again. Over and over until you say yes.

How could you deny?

"Yes" 

His lips meet yours and he pushes you to the desk. The wood is cold against your back, but it's hard to find it distracting with Hanzo over you. He pulls your legs apart, kisses your chest, marks you, rubs against you, squeezes you. You realise how much he's been holding back, but that small feeling of disapproval winds up in you again. You shouldn't want it, you shouldn't like it, you shouldn't be rolling your hips for friction. You push against his chest, and he stands fully.

For a moment, you think he listened.

But his hand dips to his pocket, and he produces a condom and a bottle of lube. It's mesmerizing to watch him; he pulls one glove off with his teeth and lets it fall, but you realise you're not really stopping him. You start to sit up, but it's a moment too late.

He pushes you down, now covered and slicked with lube, and he kisses you again.

"I'm sorry, my flower, I just can't wait any longer"

I one thrust, he slips into you, and you cry out at the stretch. He, however, lets a sigh out, one of pure relief. 

"Finally" 

His pace picks up quickly, until he's grunting into your neck. You never expected him to be so large, but also not to be so gentle.

Your conscience still struggles, though the pleasure bolting through you pulls you towards submitting.

To him, and to the pleasure.

Just accept it, enjoy it, he knows what he's doing.

No, no! Some other voice reminds you what he's done.

His gloved hand curves around your knee and encourages over his shoulder, and his other hand encourages your other leg the same.

He forces you to bend, to take him as deep as you can and it's incredible. You find yourself begging despite your conscience, and he pulls back again, his hands remain on your knees. 

"Hold your legs for just one moment, my love" 

You obey.

Slowly, much more than acceptable, he pulls out, until only the tip of him stretches your hole. And just as slowly, he watches as he sinks into you.

He keeps that slow pace, until pink dusts his cheeks and his breath is hard.

You want to beg him for more.

You want him to get off of you.

The latter happens.

He pulls out of you, and that struggle returns.

Until he rolls you onto your stomach and kicks your legs apart.

He slams into you, all sense of tenderness gone. He pounds into you without a word, only grunts and you beg for him anyway.

Then you stop yourself.

"I can feel how you're squeezing around me" 

His voice darts pleasure between your legs.

"I'm going to claim your hole, hmm? Once you cum, no one else will be allowed near it but me."

You moan but you try to wiggle away.

"Now, now, are you not grateful to have one so dedicated as myself to take care of you?" 

That gloved hand wraps around your neck and the other holds your hip as he gets closer and closer.

You shake your head, you won't cum, you won't, you can't be his.

But the hand on your hip moves, and it's between your legs and you're moaning and begging and calling his name.

Your hips push back on their own, you beg yourself not to love it like you do, but he's close and his erratic pace only makes you want more.

"Cum for me, flower."

You try not to, truly, you do.

"Now"

Your body obeys and you call his name, right before he calls yours. Your body tightens, and you grab for him whatever way you can.

His forehead presses to the space between your shoulder blades and he breathes hard. You still twitch with the last waves of orgasm.

"I knew you'd be all mine."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading my work! For updates, giveaway info, and general thought process, join me!  
> Twitter: https://twitter.com/CalsLaundry  
> Tumblr: calslaundry.tumblr.com  
> Discord: CalsLaundry#9094  
> Pillowfort: https://www.pillowfort.io/CalsLaundry


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